I moved to the other side of the room.
She asked whether being locked outside had happened before.
My grandson stared at the heated blanket over his knees. For several seconds he said nothing.
Then he whispered, “Not in snow.”
The social worker didn’t rush him.
He told her that months earlier, while his father was away, his mother had made him sit outside their apartment after he called her a liar. It had been summer then. A neighbor eventually found him sitting near the steps and called someone from the installation.
His mother had told everyone he’d gone outside on his own.
I felt my stomach tighten, but I kept my mouth shut.
That was the first lesson my old career was useful for that night: when someone finally starts telling the truth, don’t interrupt just because you’re angry about what you’re hearing.
The social worker asked him why he had called his mother a liar.
